


It takes someone to come around to show you how

by David_Kesil (DaveJean)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Driking and driving, Early Morning Drives, Friendship, M/M, Nickles in the back, Other, Pickles is a bit of a dad/mom friend, Skwistok in the back, Some feels, Toki asks Pickles to drive, Toki is more clever than the rest think he is, and drug abuse, dethklok is truly a family but they're stupid, feels happen, mentions of drug use, thougths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaveJean/pseuds/David_Kesil
Summary: But none of them were pretty good at keeping each other at a distance, not after so many years and wild rides together. And one of them was more observant than the rest took for granted, quieter and yet, most of the time, way bolder. It also really depends on how many drinks Toki had had, too.Of an early morning and an early motorbike trip that Toki asks of Pickles.
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer, Pickles the Drummer & Toki Wartooth, Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	It takes someone to come around to show you how

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the inspo is basically because of Tear in my heart by Twenty One Pilots because I could imagine Pickles driving with Toki asleep and avoiding the holes on the road.

Everyone beyond the walls of Mordhaus knew Pickles the drummer hardly spent a minute of his existence sober. The reasons behind this were an often topic of discussion between fans, music TV programmes and even some academics and drug researchers. The redhead’s system was worth a medical study, but Charles made sure no blood test ever left the medical unit in Mordhaus —who knew what their fans or enemies could do with such information. 

But Dethklok? They had the (un)spoken rule of never getting into each other problems, never asking, never caring.

None of them were pretty good at keeping each other at a distance, not after so many years and wild rides together. And one of them was more observant than the rest took for granted, quieter and yet, most of the time, way bolder. It also depended on how many drinks Toki had had, too.

“Pickle, Pickleeeeee, PicklEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“TOKI WAT THE FECK, DOOD!”

That night Pickles had been sleeping at his bed (Nathan had just had another liver transplant and it put him in the worst of moods) when Toki had come in screaming his name, laughing, trying to wake him up. Rather than trying, succeeding, not without risking a heart attack for the older man. 

“Pickle, Pickle I needs ya!” Toki shushed himself, clearly drunk, and gave Pickles the biggest puppy eyes. 

But instead of focusing on those icy blue eyes, Pickles’ mind quickly acknowledged his massive hangover, and he jumped off the bed, running to the bathroom hardly a few feet away from the mattress. The best interior design decision he had ever made, of course.

Toki followed him and leaned into Pickles, putting away one of the dreads before it would fall into the toilet. After a few minutes, coughs and vomit, Pickles cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed. Toki was still there, still laughing at himself, all dreamy eyes and a smile as big as his face.

“Shit, Toki, what’ya had?”

“Nothings, nothings, Toki ams sooooober.”

“Yah, sure. Spill it.”

“Morderface gave me soms weeeed ands, ands… I hads vodka, a littles.”

“A little my ass.”

Toki just hiccuped, pretending to sound serious with his next words.

“Pickle, I needs you to take me somewheres.”

“Ask Murderface.”

“His drivings ams shit.”

“It is, yah.” The rest of options were Nathan, which everyone knew was a blatant no, and Skwisgaar, who knew as much as Toki of driving. “I’m not pickin’ up any stoopid clewn this time, Toki.”

“No, nos, it isn’ts Rockso! It’s more importants.”

Pickles groaned, knowing whatever it was he was about to say yes. He had a soft spot for the kid, and if he were being honest, he’d admit he loved the feeling of being someone people would come up for help. Not like he said yes to everyone, his time was important, he needed his high time, his drum time and his…  _ fun  _ time, mostly with Nathan those days. But when Toki or the others asked, well, most of the time he’d say yes as long as he could drink along the way. And boy, the rest of the band really knew how to make Pickles say yes. 

  
  


Before Pickles could brush his teeth a little and have a few shots, he’d gotten on the motorbike (with a gin bottle on his left hand, of course).

“Toki, the helmet.”

“But Pickle…”

“If ya’re sitting on your booth, ya’re wearing the helmet.”

“But-”

“Remember the movie from the other day, huh? The one with the deed kid n the guy ‘n firah?”

“Ja.”

“Then wear the fucking helmet.”

Truth is Pickles hated to drive. In the US there are only two possibilities once you get behind the wheel: cities with cross lights and mindless peatons or highways that stretch to the horizon endlessly. The first one could be distracting: dodge, stop, take a right, a left, stop, hit the ignition… But Mordhaus was isolated enough to be surrounded by damned lonely highways. And when your copilot is high and drunk and you have just awakened, there's only you and your thoughts and the road.

And Pickles hated his thoughts as much as driving.

Toki had given him a direction and nothing else, some kind of mall in the closest city to Mordhaus, still one hour away. Why Toki needed to be there as soon as the stores opened was the biggest question of the night, but with another gulp of gin Pickles decided he'd find out later.

"Toki. Hoi, Toki, dood." Pickles looked at his left and saw the young man asleep, drool slowly falling from his mouth and into the helmet. "Fecking shit. 'mazing."

The last time he had seen dawn that ‘sober’ they were still living at their first Mordhaus, that old crappy apartment covered in beer, blood and egg cartons. He had been up all morning smoking weed with Nathan, coming up with plans to find the guitarist they needed now that Magnus was out of the equation. It has also been the first time they had fucked and Nathan hadn't pretended it hadn't happened. They talked, as much as they could between silly laughs and chocolate cravings, and the world felt dark yet a little clearer. They were going to make it. They just needed one more piece to finish the puzzle.

He still remembered that day, that young Toki nervous and sad about arriving late to the audition, and the way Skwisgaar had seized him up. The kid had been a curious addition —Toki managed to ignite something in the Swiss’ eyes, and with that ego the size of a planet, it had been quite a sight. He had also seen something else behind that, something that after a few years and once Toki was old and a little less naive, had translated into quite the orchestra of moans with their voices in the corridors of Mordhaus. But hey, after what he and Nathan often did he really could not judge. At all. 

Those kinds of memories managed to get a smile out of him, and he felt a little like a loser. All the time and money in the world and he was out there, driving some fucking nowhere with a head full of regrets and memories. He thought of Tony, and they way Snake n Barrels had been a first family, one that quickly fell under the pressure of drugs, arguments and heartbreak. He had been so young and stupid, so impulsive and reckless… Nothing like Toki when he joined Dethklok. He had been more of a scared rabbit, a strange fit in such a heavy band, but one that found his place so easily and so fast that even Nathan had been impressed. The morning they both knew Dethklok would make it, they had been nursing Toki after some bad cuts and watching The Addams’ Family just before moving into what now was their Mordhaus. It had been less of a thought and more of a gut feeling. Nathan had asked Toki what he thought a home was and, although the guy’s answer was gay as hell, it fit. It fit them all. Not a place, but the people in it. Not only the music, but the people behind it. The drums, the strings, the hoarse voice. They had it. They were going to make it.

And they did.

And still, because life works that way and God laughs upon us, Pickles thought, here he was driving in the early morning, still not drunk nor sober, in that limbo he hated. But the breeze against his face, against the wrinkles that multiplied each year, against the freckles that got darker every decade, wind against time against God against booze… maybe it wasn’t such a bad feeling. Just another one. And wasn’t that what he looked for, something to feel, something to numb, something to heighten? A reason, any reason, just one. And anytime, he knew he could come back home.

He finally had one. 

The motorbike trembled for a second and Pickles swore way too loud. Realizing it, he checked on Toki, but the drool and the closed eyes hadn’t changed. 

“Feck, we pay so many feckin’ taxes n they cann’t cover those shitty holes on the road…” he muttered to himself, slightly angry and dizzy, but aware of the effect that the gin was slowly having on him, taking him away from the limbo. Soon, some of the traffic lights would become a little blurrier and the trip would be a little funnier, less filled with stupid memories of when he was still young and naive. He considered calling Charles to come pick them up once they were done, but the manager would reprimand him from drinking and driving. As if he had ever driven sober. He smiled at the thought of an argument with Charles, only to end up smashing IKEA lamps at the office in Mordhaus. All the things Charles had been witness to, and all the ones they had yet to come up with. They often gave him shit for asking them to do their jobs (they’re krillionares, who the fuck cares when they get another album out?) but Pickles knew Charles cared for the band as well as he did. Maybe four eyes was just gayer and could express it more often than him.

Which brought Pickles back to an interesting thought, how much they insisted on not doing ‘gay’ things like caring and supporting each other, yet how often would Toki knock on Nathan’s door ever other night when he had nightmares and Skwisgaar had blacked out, or the many nights Murderface and the Swiss would try to sleep in his bed after too much candy and gruesome movies. He thought of all the sleepless nights at the recording booth with Nathan, having one or two breaks for a blowjob or a quick fuck just to keep the adrenaline coming, so they could ask it for a new chorus, a different rhythm for his sticks. And again, this wasn’t the first time Toki had asked him to drive him somewhere, only to forget what he was going to do and make it an excuse for…

A night out, sleeping in the cold, early morning…

With nothing but the wind and the sunlight hitting his face under the helmet, knowing Pickles was driving and would keep him safe.

Asleep. 

That fucking bastard, he had done it again. 

There was no mall inside Toki’s head, just an excuse to get Pickles out of bed while Nathan was angry, to keep him from probably making some bad decisions with all the stack he had back in his room once he would wake up alone. 

Because the last time Nathan got a transplant and had an immense, awful mood for a week, he had done a little too much heroin and Toki had been the one that found him, gasping for air and with his fingertips and lips icy blue. The paramedics said his life hadn’t been at any big risk, but he could have had serious and long-lasting secondary effects. Like his incapacity to ever have any opioid working for him wasn’t punishment enough.

That fucking European bastard. He’d done it again.

  
  


“Hoi, Toki. Tooki,” Pickles called the young man, the motorbike parked, the mall already open. “We’re here, dood.”

Toki mouthed some words in what Pickles thought would be Norgewian as he slowly opened his eyes, unfocused and confused. “Ams where, Pickle?”

“Tha mall.”

“The malls.”

“Yep.”

“What ams we doings in the malls?”

Pickles sighed —he couldn’t get angry at Toki, not after finishing the gin bottle, not when the young looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Gettin’ some breakfast ya can eat, like that yoghurt with berries and weird seeds.”

Toki smiled, and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. “Sounds amazings, Pickle, just fives more minute…”

Pickles grabbed him by the shirt, aware of their slight size (and strength) difference, yet decided to get the boy out of the booth. “No five more minutes, Toki, I’m fecking starvin’”

“ ‘rights, Pickle…” and more drool fell from the big, big Norwegian smile. 

Pickles the drummer maybe had all the reasons in the world and more to never be sober, but his bandmates and family knew better than to ask. What they did was the same old dance every time he needed it, each in their own different way. Murderface would often ask for French Toasts when too many Margaritas’ glasses were found around the Jacuzzi at midday. Skwisgaar would ask him to go to the recording booth and have a little competition between his double kicks and the blond’s solos. Charles would always make sure the cocaine was pure and clean, the weed even ecological and only the kinds he really enjoyed. Nathan would spend every awful hangover (the kinds that weren’t cured with lots of vomiting and aspirin) reading him stupid fake news that Charles would send them with the words in different colors, so the singer didn’t have a hard time with the letters.

And Toki. 

Toki would get wasted and ask him to drive him somewhere at any god-forsaken hour, only to fall asleep so Pickles could have some alone time, some space to think even if he hated it, because even if he did, the air in his face and the road empty ahead gave him the sense of control he often searched for at the end of glasses. 

Because maybe he just needed a little pause. A little breeze, a stupid excuse. 

And two pints of chocolate ice-cream and a Cosmopolitan at seven in the morning while Toki ate a gigantic bowl filled with fruits, greek yogurt and berries. 

**Author's Note:**

> What isn’t mine it’s the bit of the last day at old Mordhaus, with Pickles, Nathan and Toki watching The Addams Family. That’s from an AWESOME fic my friend Matt wrote and I’m waiting for him to upload basically, because it is amazing and it also inspired me a bit to write this one. Idk doods who love and care for each other, what’s better than that?


End file.
